An Angel's Poet
by Don'tBeDead
Summary: When life get's you down, if feels like there in no other option. Castiel proves that there always is.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Dean had Castiel over to his house was the first time he'd ever invited anyone over without the intentions of sex. So it made sense that it was also the first time he'd ever had a boy over. Apart from his closest childhood friends who all lived out of town, he'd never had anyone from school over before. So inviting Castiel, the strange boy he'd known for less than 2 weeks over was a very very big deal for him.

It was a Friday night in late November and his father was out on a hunt, not expected back until the following Sunday so Dean had no need to worry about being caught. But he still did, and rightfully so.

Racing home after school that day, butterflies in his stomach, he struggled to control the urge to panic and call the whole thing off. Castiel was supposed to arrive at 6 o'clock which gave him an hour and a half to get ready after he showered. He grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat of his car once he pulled into the driveway, flying out of the car. The house key shook in his hands as he struggled to unlock it, completely forgetting to do the checks he was supposed to do every day before entering the house after school. He bounded up the stairs towards the bathroom when he stopped short in his bedroom doorway. His closet was spewing out its contents onto his floor from his lack of care for his clothes, and he realised he had nothing to wear. He'd been on plenty of dates before and had never been nervous before, had hardly even thought about what he should wear. But now, he was way out of his depth; he'd never felt like this about someone before and it'd never been another boy.

His heart rate picked up and his palms began to sweat as he decided to shower first. He turned the water on as hot as he dared and scrubbed himself, using about half his bottle of body wash, trying to get all the sweat and dirt off him from a day at school. He wanted Castiel to think he was attractive, not a dirty slob. Once the burning heat of the water became too much on his skin, he climbed out and wrapped a towel around his waist, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He knew he was attractive, and he had never really doubted that nor had to, because there was always a girl or two happy to remind him. But somehow, tonight of all nights, he began to. Were his eyes nice enough for Castiel? Was his hair too long, too short? Was his nose too small, his ears too big? Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sighed. These were things he had no power over and couldn't change so he should stop worrying about them. Dean felt the stubble around his chin and realised it'd been 3 days since he'd last shaved. He began to wonder if Castiel would like him better clean shaven or not, so he decided he would shave just to be on the safe side. Applying aftershave and deodorant once he had finished in the bathroom, he hurried back to his bedroom in search of something to wear, eyes purposefully avoiding the closed bedroom door opposite his.

It was getting close to 5pm as he stood in the centre of his room, looking for something to wear. He had an hour and he still needed to prepare for dinner, and get up the courage to go into Sa—into the other bedroom and get the DVD's. Looking around, he spotted his good black jeans sticking out from under his bed and nearly whooped with joy when he realised they were clean and unworn. He slipped his favourite Pink Floyd t-shirt over his head and a blue check shirt unbuttoned over the top. He spent ten minutes trying to decide if he should wear shoes or not before coming to the conclusion that a pair of clean white socks was just fine.

Dean hurried into the kitchen, cleaning things up and putting things away as he went. He didn't want him to think his house was dirty and that his family was bad because of it; they were bad for other reasons. He made sure the kitchen and living room were spotless and neat, the DVD's on a pile on the coffee table (getting them had been painful and he was lucky he hadn't started crying again), furniture all straight and all rubbish disposed of because this would be where they spent their time tonight.

The clock ticked just passed 5:30pm as he finally made his way to the kitchen to start dinner. He had promised Castiel his famous homemade hamburgers and was suddenly so glad that they were simple and he knew the recipe off by heart, because he didn't have the focus to make something any more complicated than burgers.

Dean got out the mince, dicing some carrots and onions to mix into it with the sauce before kneading it all together, rolling in into small patties. He sliced up onions, tomatoes, cheese, washed some lettuce, got out the bottles of sauce before putting it all on the table which he had set nicely with plates, napkins, knives and forks. It was probably the first time in 15 years that it had been set like that. Cooking had always been a secret hobby of Dean's that could always calm him when he needed it. The rhythmic movements of chopping vegetables and kneading the mince had distracted him and time and flown for half an hour until there was a knock at the front door.

Dropping everything in his heads, which was luckily only a tea towel, he glanced quickly at the clock and realised it was indeed 6 o'clock. 6:04pm to be exact. He hastily washed his hands to get rid of any food and ran a shaky hand through his hair, checking himself over in the mirror in the entryway before pulling open the front door.

Castiel stood on the doorstep of the house, looking up at Dean with huge round eyes. Dean's breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sight before him. He knew Castiel looked good, really good, all the time but this…this was something different. His eyes looked bluer than usual in the dim light coming from the doorway, making him look even more pure. It appeared as though he had tried to comb his hair, but it just made it stick up even more in the most adorable way. By the way his jaw fell open slightly and his eyes opened even wider, it was obvious he wasn't the only one shocked at what they saw. Dean blushed furiously and stepped aside, holding open the door.

"Come…come on in," he stuttered nervously, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Castiel stood staring at him for a moment before walking carefully into the house. They were both as nervous as each other by the way they stood awkwardly in the entryway, facing each other. Castiel kept glancing up at him and then blushing before averting his gaze again.

"Hi Dean…" he murmured quietly. That was enough to break Dean out of his nerves and he took a hesitant stepped forward before wrapping his arms around Castiel's shoulders, hugging him to his chest.

"Hey Cas," He felt the angel relax into his grip, arms sliding around his waist and hugging him back. Dean took hold of his hand when Castiel pulled away, leading him down the hallway and through the living room to the kitchen/dining room. Dean had plugged his iPod dock into the kitchen and it was playing quietly in the background- he had downloaded a whole lot of Florence and the Machine, Led Zeppelin and any other related bands onto his iPod because he knew those were Castiel's favourite bands. Castiel looked around the kitchen at the set dining table, the few candles he'd found under the bathroom sink that had belonged to him mother scattered around, making the room smell lovely. Small bowls of burger fillings sat on the table and the meat in a pan ready to be cooked. Dean watched him take it all in, palms sweating nervously before Cas turned to him and smiled hugely.

"Dean, this is perfect." He whispered, walking over to him and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dean relaxed, all of the tension bleeding out of him as he leant into the kiss, humming quietly. He ran his hand down Castiel's arm and took hold of his hand, intertwining their fingers.

Dean dragged him over to the table and pushed him down into his seat before heading over to where the meat sat, ready to be cooked. He could feel Castiel's blue eyes watching him as he lit the stove and put some garlic oil in the pan, flattening the burgers down with a satisfying sizzle. Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway to Heaven' was playing quietly in the background and Dean hummed along, swaying absentmindedly to the rhythm as he flipped the patties with professional skill.

Dean didn't feel the need to break the comfortable silence between them as he cooked the meat, not saying anything until he slipped the food onto a plate and placing it on the table.

"Did you want something to drink, Cas? Water, milk, coke, beer?" he asked, turning to face him with a fond smile on his face.

"Can I have a coke please, Dean?" he replied quietly, eyes still watching him as he walked around the room. Dean grabbed two of the glass bottles out of the fridge and walked over to Castiel, standing behind his chair. He placed the bottles on the table and rested his hands on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"Thank you for coming tonight, Castiel. It really means a lot that I'm not alone, especially while dads on a job and—

Dean cut himself off when he realised they weren't alone. He looked up from Castiel to find his father standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a look of such disappointment on his face that Dean's knees nearly buckled underneath him. His father just shook his head and turned to leave, but before he did, he couldn't help but crush Dean even further.

"And you wondered why I always loved your brother more."

And just like that, all the happiness that had begun to fill him and help him over his pain was gone. All it took was 10 words from the one person who was supposed to love him unconditionally for Dean to go back to the way he was before- nothing but pain and anger, self-hatred and the desire to die at his own hands. That emptiness in his eyes replaced what had been happiness moments before. His shoulders slumped and he stepped away from Castiel, everything about him looking drained, even the colour of his clothes.

Dean couldn't even find enough anger in him to fight his father because he was right. He was always right. Dean was a failure and would be in every aspect of his life. He could never change that. Closing his eyes, he turned away unable to bare the look of shame and disappointment that was surely on Castiel's face.

"…Dean?" Castiel reached out and laid a careful hand on his shoulder, but Dean just shook it off.

"Cas, just….please."

Castiel didn't say anything else or try and comfort him for which he was glad. He turned around but didn't look up at him, instead grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

"You should leave now; I'll drop you home." He said, voice empty of any emotion, which was far scarier than an angry or a sobbing Dean. A robot Dean was scarier than anything. He slipped on his jacket and pulled his keys from his pocket, walking out of the room without waiting for Castiel. His father sat on the couch in the living room, passed out drunk. Dean couldn't help but wish for a moment that he would never wake up but then kicked himself mentally. He couldn't afford to think like that.

Stopping only to shove his feet into his boots, Dean walked silently out to his car, slipping into the driver's seat and waiting for Castiel. His face showed no emotion as he stared straight ahead, but his knuckles were white from how tightly he was holding the steering wheel and his shoulders were tense. There was an aching inside his chest that he hadn't felt since Sam—since That Day. He wouldn't have been surprised if he looked down to find a gaping bloody hole in his chest where his heart had once been, blood soaking through and leading a trail to where a beating heart lay bloody on the kitchen floor.

Dean could see Castiel leave the house out of the corner of his eye, looking sad and small. He didn't turn to the angel when he silently slid into the car, just started the engine and began the short drive to Castiel's house. The silence between them was deafening and the tension was suffocating. Castiel opened his mouth more than once to try and say something but always stopped himself. Dean just stared straight ahead, not even turning when he pulled up out the front of his house. Dean had only ever been here once after dropping Castiel off after school, though never going inside. It was a large white house; full of expensive furniture that made Castiel seem so out of place. When Dean didn't say anything, Cas sighed sadly and opened the door. He glanced briefly at Dean before climbing out. If he had been human, he wouldn't have heard it but his angel senses caught Dean's very faint, very quiet whisper.

"I'm so sorry, Cas."

Dean didn't wait to see if he heard, driving off as soon as the door was closed. He couldn't resist the urge to look in the rear view mirror as he drove off, and immediately regretted it. Castiel was standing on the curb staring after him, looking completely broken and helpless. The hole in Dean's chest was ripped even bigger as he desperately wanted to turn around and take Castiel into his arms, holding him tight. But he couldn't. So, doing what the Winchester boys were known to do, he ran away from his problems. Literally.


	2. Chapter 2

"And you wondered why I always loved your brother more."

These words played over and over in Castiel's mind as he watched Dean drive away, leaving him standing on the curb. He wanted to chase after Dean, tell him to pull over and wrap his wings around him to keep him safe from the world. But after the way he had looked after he had heard those words, the way his whole body had sagged underneath the weight of years' worth of not feeling good enough, he couldn't. Dean needed his space right then and that is what he would give him. Turning, he didn't head into his house. He walked back the way they had come towards the woods surrounding the town, towards his sacred place- their sacred place. The Clearing.

Walking down the dark street, he couldn't help but remember the first time Dean had met Castiel. He already knew all about Dean Winchester, after being assigned to watch over him. He had watched over him from afar for a few days before they officially met, wondering what was so special about the boy. It wasn't until their first meeting that he understood. Never before had he been so thankful to Zachariah for giving him a job.

Dean had been sitting in the locker room after football practise, long after everyone had already showered and left. He was stalling so he wouldn't have to leave as Castiel watched from the shadows of the doorway, unsure whether to approach or not.

Deciding that he had to, he stepped out of the shadows.

"Hello?"

Dean had spun around looking startled, glancing around for the person intruding on him.

"Uh hey? Who's there?"

"Castiel. Castiel Novak. Who are you?" he asked, even though he knew exactly who it was. Dean looked surprised when he stepped around the corner of the lockers into his line of sight. He shook himself, getting to his feet.

"Winchester. Dean Winchester." Obviously. Who else would it have been?

Castiel had known something was wrong by the way Dean looked so empty and lost, so utterly broken. "Are…are you alright, Dean?" he asked quietly, taking a hesitant step towards the mortal boy.

Dean looked shocked that he cared, but shook his head, sighing sadly. "I…no. Not really. But it's fine." Castiel was still lingering at the edges of the locker room, not wanting to frighten Dean off. He bit his lip, before speaking.

"It's not fine if you're not okay."

Dean had glanced at him before sighing heavily and sitting back down on the bench. He held his head in his hands, not looking up at him when he spoke. "My little brother died. I was…I was just about to go join him." He admitted.

Castiel felt his heart leap in his chest, his blood running cold. The only thought he'd had in that moment was 'Oh god, please, don't do it. Please don't do it. I have to save you.' He knew now why Zachariah had sent him on this mission- to save Dean Winchester before he did something idiotic. Walking slowly, he knelt down in front of Dean, trying to meet his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, but…why would you do that?"

"I just…I just miss him so much. My dad, he's not coping. He hates me. Blames me for Sammy and my mom. I just don't want to live anymore."

Castiel had wanted nothing more than to let his wings fly free and wrap them around Dean, saving him from all this. "I'm sorry, I am. But it's not your fault. It's not. You shouldn't want to end your life because of that."

Dean let out a bitter laugh before standing up. He grabbed his bag and didn't even bother to say goodbye, just escaped out of the locker room.

Ten minutes later, Castiel saved Dean from overdosing on sleeping pills in his car in the school parking lot.

Castiel sighed heavily and wiped at his eyes to stop any tears escaping as he remembered all this, remembered the rest of that week when Dean didn't come to school and the all-consuming panic he'd felt. When he had caught a glimpse of him on Monday morning, his heart had nearly stopped from the relief he felt. Walking through the woods now, Castiel couldn't keep his mind from worrying over Dean and where he was. Certainly he wasn't going home, but he just wished he could be there to keep him safe.

Arriving at the clearing, the moon shining through the trees and reflecting off the slowly crawling river, he couldn't help remember everything that had transpired here over the past five days. The peach tree of the first time he had shown Dean his wings, unfurled them and flown up to reach the best peaches at the top of the tree. The way the juice had run down Dean's chin as he bit into it. The soft spot of grass beside the small river where Dean had asked him about the stars, communicating with only poems, where a day later, he had confessed of his love towards Dean.

Pulling his dark blue sweater over his head, Castiel stood in the centre of the clearing. He arched his back and let out a soft sigh as he released his wings, the huge dark masses of feathers moving and swaying with each breath he took. They rippled like water as he moved, shining as if they were dipped in oil whenever the moonlight reflected off them. Reaching high above his head and brushing along the ground just slightly, they made Castiel look both more powerful, and smaller than usual.

Curling his wings and pushing off the ground, he drifted lazily into the air, spiralling upwards. The rush of air around him calmed his nerves and the panic that threatening to boil over inside him. Castiel soared high above the ground, eyes roaming the strange, modern world beneath him. He marvelled at how in a few short thousand years, these human beings had developed so rapidly. He was fascinated by them and admired their diligence, though the same couldn't be said for most angels.

Castiel pulled his wings in and began to plummet back to the ground, swooping down towards his house. He landed with a dull thud on the rooftop, silently walking over the tiles to the edge. He dropped four feet onto his window ledge in the attic and climbed in. Everything he had once treasured in his bedroom seemed to dull after spending so long with Dean, all the things he admired and felt like they had shone with life paled after the brilliance that was Dean Winchester.

The mobile phone that he had purchased especially for this mission sat on his bedside table, silent and foreboding as he willed it to ring. He had one number saved into the contact list, and only text messages from that one person; Dean. He picked up the device and scrolled through all the texts, reading over them all again. Since that first time Dean had been to the clearing, a week after they had met, he had sent Castiel a text every evening at exactly 9 o'clock saying the exact same thing:

"Even to-day your royal head may fall, I think I will not hang myself to-day."

It was the last verse of a poem called A Ballad of Suicide, and it had become almost Dean's promise to Castiel after he had first said it in the clearing a week ago. Every night he would text the same line to Castiel, a promise that he wouldn't kill himself during the night.

Castiel didn't get any text message from Dean that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Flashes of memory. Flickering lights. Scuttling movements. Faces, screams, a splatter of blood against the walls. Movement behind him. Gunshot echoing. Laboured breathing.

"_And as we wind on down the road, our shadows taller than our soul. There walks a lady we all know who shines white light and wants to show how everything still turns to gold."_

Sam's young body, lifeless on the floor, eyes still open. A deep roar behind him, a swinging claw. Screams of grief, a father's cry for his son, not in time to stop it.

"_And if you listen very hard, the tune will come to you at last. When all is one and one is all, to be a rock and not to roll."_

Dean's fault. Dean's fault. Dean's fault.

"_And she's buying a stairway to heaven."_

The sound of a truck roaring past, engine brakes echoing through the pre-dawn air woke him finally, the last few bars of the song playing out through his car radio and interfering with his nightmare. Dean lay across the back seat of the Impala, staring up at the upholstered roof, trying not to drown under the waves of guilt this nightmare bought every time he had it. With Castiel around, it had at least been tolerable. Now, he couldn't stop the tears from forming in his eyes.

Because it was his fault, wasn't it? Sammy would still be here, if it weren't for him. He'd broken the one sacred rule he had, that his father had; always look out for Sam. And he couldn't even do that. There was no bigger disappointment.

Once his racing heart was seemingly back to normal, Dean sat up slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He looked around him, trying to remember exactly where he was. It came back to him slowly- an abandoned roadway off the freeway leading into some town in southern Arkansas. It had been two days since he'd last seen Castiel, since he'd walked out on his father, and it seemed everything was insisting on reminding him of it, even his car radio and the songs it just happened to play.

His mobile phone lay where he had left it in the passenger seat, unanswered and ignored as countless texts and calls came through from Castiel, Ash, Pam and Jo. He wanted to call them back, especially Castiel, wanted to tell him he was alright.

He couldn't, though. He couldn't bring himself to pick up the mobile phone and dial his number. Because he didn't deserve that, didn't deserve the relief it would bring. He didn't deserve to even know somebody like Castiel, let alone be able to call and hear his sweet voice whenever he wished.

But Castiel did deserve to know that he was alright.

Sighing and pulling his t-shirt over his bare chest and jumping between the two front seats, he settled behind the steering wheel, taking the silver device in hand and opened a new message. He didn't say the words he knew Castiel was craving to read, the words that promise that he wouldn't kill himself, instead sending two simple words; 'I'm okay'.

It was cruel, perhaps a little cold-hearted, but it was all Dean could manage at the moment. He wished he could promise the angel, his angel that he would come home, but he couldn't. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't take the gun from the glove compartment and shoot himself in the temple, letting the blood splatter across the interior of his car. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't take the knife from where it was strapped to his leg and slice across his wrists, the neat cuts welling with blood as he watched in fascination.

He couldn't promise that because, even with everything he'd told Castiel over the past two weeks, he didn't know if he would be able to live on after this. The desire to see his own blood pooling around him as he faded into nothingness was almost as impossible to resist as falling in love with Castiel had been, as it had been consistently since the accident.

Sighing wearily, Dean turned the keys in the ignition, letting the vibrations of the engine as the car rumbled to life calm his frayed, exhausted nerves. He closed his eyes, letting the familiar scent of oil, leather and car fumes surround him before he backed out of the roadway, gravel and dirt crunching beneath the tires. The sleek bodywork of the black Impala sliced easily through the air as he sped towards the nearest town, bushy woods flashing past his windows.

As the township approached, he slowed the car down, driving past a welcome sign as he headed into the town centre. He couldn't help the bitter laugh that left his lips as he read it- 'Welcome to El Dorado, Arkansas. Population: 18,884'. It just happened to be that he'd unconsciously driven 19 hours straight to end up in a place such as this; mere days before, in a moment of pure bliss, Dean had whispered against Castiel's lips that he'd finally found his own 'El Dorado', and now here he was.

The streets were quiet at this time of morning, not a single soul about. He drove down the main shopping strip, pulling into a parking space beside the road. The empty, still shops felt eerie as he climbed out of his car, pocketing his keys, but the sensation quickly faded as dawn settled over the town, the beginnings of sunlight peaking over the horizon. He leant against the side of his car, taking in the peace that was pressing in around him, the quiet chirps of birds unseen and the cool, slightly breezy air. He felt weak tendrils of sunlight caress his cheeks and neck as he tipped his face up to the sky, hands buried in his pocket. Some unknown force drew him to open his eyes and look at the building across from him.

It was an old church building, probably building during the early 70's, but surprisingly it wasn't hideous. The building was red brick with white concrete trimmings, on a large slab of grass, the most free space there was in the town centre. On the right side of the grass there was a huge oak tree, it's long, thick limbs hanging high above the ground, it's thick leaves covered the branches that fanned out over the grass and a small portion of the church roof.

Checking both ways, mostly from habit, before crossing the road, Dean made his way over to the tree. He sat down at its roots, leaning his back against its solid trunk. His phone was still clenched tightly in his fist, his hand trembling slightly as he retrained himself from calling Castiel and begging for forgiveness. But he didn't, and just continued to stare up at the building, eyes memorizing every detail he could in the dim light from the white cross upon its steeple to the stained glass windows, the flowers around the base of the stairs leading to the heavy wooden doors, the wide cobblestone pathway leading to the footpath beside the road.

Dean couldn't tell you how long he sat there, staring up at the building, not paying any attention to how the sun rose slowly behind him, or a car pulling into the parking lot behind the building. His eyes had drifted shut from exhaustion, two days of very little sleep and food draining him of all energy. A voice above him jerked him from his slumber, hand automatically going to the knife at his ankle before realizing who it was.

An older man, the priest of this church presumably by the way he was dressed, was looking down at him with a kind smile on his face. He was slim and quite tall, with short dark hair that was greying throughout. Dean nodded in greeting, not exactly able to tell a priest to piss off. The man groaned slightly, joints complaining, as he sat down opposite him, cross legged and fingers running through the lush grass beneath him.

"What brings you here this early on a Sunday morning, son?" he asked quietly, looking up into Dean's face. He glanced away from the man's clever grey eyes, staring down at his hands. He grunted in response, shrugging his shoulder as he glanced over at him.

The priest shifted closer at this, smiling even kinder at him. "Are you here to seek the solace of the Holy Father?" he asked, voice sounding hopeful. Dean's eyes shot to him, eyebrows raised in surprise. He didn't have to say anything, his expression conveying his thoughts.

"No, I didn't think so. But I have to ask those questions anyway." He gave the boy a sympathetic smile, shrugging with one shoulder. "But son, you are tired. Why don't you come in and I'll make you some coffee? I'm sure we've got something to eat inside." The priest got to his feet, holding out a hand for Dean to take.

Lifting his eyelids, Dean stared at the hand extended towards him. The aged, scarred hand seemed to be offering so much more than a physical helping; it seemed to offer a bridge over the pain Dean was suffering in, a hand to pull him from drowning in his emotions. He wasn't sure he even wanted that. He continued to stare at the long fingers that were trembling ever so slightly from age, before glancing up into soft grey eyes. He didn't know what possessed him to take the man's hand and let him pull him to his feet, but he certainly felt like he'd made a huge mistake. The man didn't released his hand, only shook it before introducing himself.

"I am Father Jim Morrinson, and this is my church. If you feel more comfortable, you can just call me Jim." He said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before leading the way to a side door which was already unlocked from where he'd entered previously. Dean followed, still having not spoken to the man, hanging behind, ready to attack if need be. Father Jim led him down a wide corridor, past the big service hall to a small kitchen with some counters and cheap table and chairs. He hung in the doorway, surveying all possible exits before picking a spot to sit where he could defend himself the most.

This all felt so strange since he hadn't even been in a church since before his mother's death when he'd been a child, Dean having gone with her every Sunday before she'd died. When he was growing up, he could almost say that was what he missed most; those few hours alone once a week he had with his beautiful mother.

Dean watched as the priest prepared two mugs of coffee and grabbed a loaf of bread and some jam from the fridge, carrying them over to Dean. "So what brings you to El Dorado, son?" he asked quietly, looking up at Dean. He finally looked up to meet his gaze properly, nodding slowly before clearing his throat, speaking quietly.

"Got lost. Didn't mean to end up here." He murmured, reaching for his mug.

Father Jim smiled and nodded encouragingly for him to continue as he picked up the knife and spread butter and jam onto two slices of bread, making them both a sandwich. "Were you hoping to get lost?"

Dean took the sandwich offered and bit into it, not realizing how hungry he'd been until that moment. "From one person, yeah. Myself. Turns out you can't run from you."

"And who are you?"

This question caught him off guard. He knew he meant more than just his identity, but he didn't know how else to answer.

"Dean Winchester; I don't know who else." Dean fiddled with his mobile phone as he continued to eat and drink, looking anywhere but at Jim, fingers drumming against the cheap blue platic of the table top. After a few minutes, the priest spoke.

"Call them, Dean. It'll help having them with you." He said quietly, gesturing to the phone in the young man's hands.

Brows furrowed, Dean dropped his phone onto the table, folding his hands together in front of him as if he hadn't just been thinking about how desperately he wanted to hear Castiel's voice. He slowly lifted his eyes to look up at Father Jim, meeting his eyes. He didn't know how the man knew what he'd been thinking, having always thought he'd been good at hiding his thoughts and feelings, but apparently not. Sighing and running a hand through his short hair, rubbing at his tired eyes, he sipped at his coffee for a few minutes before speaking.

"They won't come. They probably hate me by now."

Father Jim merely nodded and stood up, giving Dean's shoulder one last squeeze before heading out into the main hall to prepare for his Sunday sermon. Dean stayed where he was, flipping the phone over in his hands, trying to decide what do to. Finally the craving to speak to the other boy got too much, and he pushed back from his seat with a huff of frustration, heading back outside.

He sat down in front of the big oak tree once more, gnawing at his bottom lip before dialling Castiel's number. It had barely rung twice before Cas picked up, no voice coming from the other line, just heavy breathing. Dean held the phone hard against his ear, as if it would bring them closer together the closer he was to the phone.

"Cas?" He choked out, voice suddenly not working, hoping to God that he didn't hate him.

And suddenly, the line went dead. Dean let out a strangled noise somewhere crossed between a sob and a growl, throwing his phone down into the dirt. He held his head in his hands, trying to not let the tidal wave of emotions control him, when there was a flurry of wind around him. He looked up in confusion, then shock when Castiel was standing in front of him, hair in its usual messy state, wearing the jeans and t-shirt he knew Dean loved and that same old trench coat.

"Hello Dean."


End file.
